


Gemütlich

by alittlenightmusic



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Closeted Character, Developing Relationship, F/M, Historical Hetalia, Jealousy, Loving Marriage, Politics, World War I, bad politics, implied PruAus, one-sided PruAus, or maybe not, sassy Erszébet is sassy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 12:37:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15388908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alittlenightmusic/pseuds/alittlenightmusic
Summary: Gilbert Beilschmidt is the spitting image of his country - young, handsome, strong, perhaps a little too confident in himself. Gentle Roderich is supposed to be living up to the reputation of his feared and revered countryman from a hundred years earlier, but his heart is in the wrong place. And Erszébet would rather like her husband to be chasing after her, not the other way around. Four times they meet, and one time that they start a little fire.A portrait of European life before the Great War.(Written for aphabriefhistoryoftime on Tumblr. Prompt: pre-WW1 Vienna.)





	1. 1. Christmas, 1910

**Author's Note:**

> Written for aphabriefhistoryoftime on Tumblr. Prompt: pre-WWI Vienna.  
> RECOMMENDED LISTENING: (contains Ives, Dvorak, Debussy, Bartók, etc.)  
> Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/user/cutthenorth/playlist/2OR8zzTZfvgReeW4RTqD3Y
> 
> Songs no. 1 and no. 2 accompany this chapter.

Christmas, 1910

“Can I get my master of the house anything more? Coffee?” she asks warmly, slipping into the morning gray of the drawing room on silent, slippered feet.  
Her husband and their Christmas guest stop talking as she enters. Her husband sucks in a little excited gasp, calling out, “Erszi!” and turning to face her with a broad smile.  
“My Roddy.” Erszébet leans against his shoulders from behind him, her arms delicately lacing themselves around his neck. She gives him a soft kiss on his forehead, and notices their guest averting his eyes - respectfully or spitefully, she cannot tell - from the spectacle she’s creating. She gives their guest a subtle shrug. Roderich had informed her that she could be relaxed around Gilbert, his childhood friend. She’s only being as casual as she would without his presence.  
Roderich politely requests more coffee for the both of them, and she takes the serving tray from the maid downstairs and goes and pours coffee for them herself. Her husband does like the attention of being served by her, closeted drama queen that he is, and she is more than happy to give it to him on a silver platter.  
“Frau Edelstein,” Gilbert interrupts as she’s pouring Roderich’s coffee, apparently unwilling to be informal with her. (Which makes her life when he’s around harder, because if a man is using titles and honorifics with her, she can’t be relaxed with him as her husband suggests.) “I do believe I’m good on coffee for the time being, though I know your husband needs it more than me. Would you care to leave the coffeepot in here, so we can serve ourselves? I don’t mean to trouble you every time we need a bit of a drink.”  
“It’s no trouble, Herr Beilschmidt,” Erszébet tells him with a big grin, purposefully airy and cheerful. She pretends not to understand that he’s trying to send her away. She lingers a little longer, taking her time pouring cream into her husband’s coffee cup and stirring it with a little silver spoon. She’ll leave when she decides to, she tells herself.  
Gilbert manages to keep a straight face until she finally lets herself out of the room, but as soon as she steps out the door and begins to close it, he desperately says, “Will you continue, Roddy?”  
Erszébet sighs. Her husband has that effect on people; she can’t entirely blame Gilbert for wanting to hear the rest of what he was saying. Roderich’s voice is like fine white sugar. It’s sweet and it gently hooks you, leaving you hanging on to the end of all his sentences and eager to hear more. Compliments and beautiful things flow from his lips like water from a fountain. He’s a people person at his core, despite his reserved exterior, and he’s sensitive enough to know just the right thing to say at any given time. At his job it’s useful, in placating belligerent royals, healing wounded egos, opening dialogue where there once was only monologue. He can convince anyone of anything. And when he turns the full force of his charm on her - well, she’s helpless. She’s helplessly in love.  
If only he would give her a little more attention. Chase after her a little more. She’d be the happiest wife alive.  
Erszébet goes into her bedroom, the same gray, weak light streaming in through the curtains here as in the drawing room. The bed is still unmade, the plush blankets and covers bunched up and in disarray from where she and Roderich had slept. She thinks about making the bed for a moment, but settles for simply straightening up the covers and fluffing the pillows. The maid can finish the job later, while they’re at lunch.  
She still has a few presents to put under the Christmas tree. She enters the closet - it has its own separate room attached to the master bedroom - and goes to the back, where she keeps her shawls and scarves. She’s hidden the gifts in between the fabric of her clothes. There’s something for Gilbert that she bought last week after finding out he’d be staying for Christmas, and another book and some new silk gloves for Roderich. Back in her room, she wraps them with violet tissue paper and ties a little ribbon around the packages. Then she dresses for Mass, putting on a dress that is perhaps more conservative than the one she’s already got on. 

 

At Mass, Gilbert stares respectfully but blankly ahead, listening to the priest lecturing in German and then the choir singing in Latin. It’s church, but he’s not Catholic, and he seems to be significantly rustier in Latin than Roderich, who uses it every Sunday when he comes here to the cathedral. He mills about after the service is over, listening to the hired string quartet play and staring up at the stained glass and warm, richly colored ceiling. There are paintings everywhere, with golden frames delicately carved and molded and decorated. The roof soars above his head, held up by pointed arches on either side of the main aisle. It is all flagrantly opulent, awe-catching, and attention-grabbing. It’s just like Roderich.  
At tea after Mass, the boys talk politics, leaving Erszébet to fiddle with the doily under her teacup and only half-listen to their conversation. Gilbert, in his role in the military, speaks of expansion, of soldiers drilling in the fields, of sending troops to Africa, and of blood and iron and all the great problems they decided. Roderich’s experience is in stark contrast. He tells Gilbert all about mediating debates between Franz Josef and Franz Ferdinand, who argue like lightning and thunder, patiently listening to bitter Slavic patriots protest Austria’s presence in the Balkans, monthly meetings with foreign ambassadors, and the delicate balance of diplomacy.  
The two of them are very different; they are like cat and dog. Gilbert is assertive, brash, forwards, always knowing what to do and always taking charge. Roderich slinks in the background, pulling the strings and crafting the strategy. From the outside, he looks like he is always building connections, not tearing down alliances. But when it serves a purpose, he knows how to burn his bridges and erase his tracks. They would make a very good team, she realizes. Erszébet hopes that she’ll never have to combat their combined forces. She wouldn’t stand a chance.  
She can imagine them when they were younger, strolling around the grounds of the Swiss boarding school where they met, side by side. Roderich told her they used to be inseparable. Her husband had been strongest in the humanities - philosophy, art, writing, language, history. Gilbert had been accomplished in maths, sciences, leadership, and athletics. With teamwork, they’d passed through the gymnasium system with flying colors. Germany and Austria-Hungary alone might make a worthy alliance. But Gilbert Beilschmidt and Roderich Edelstein would make a more formidable one, she thinks to herself. 

 

When they finish opening presents in the parlor, it is near eleven at night. Full from a rich Christmas dinner and drowsy from hot wine, the three of them retire to bed. Roderich and Gilbert part ways at the top of the second floor staircase. The guest bedrooms are all the way across the house from the family’s rooms.  
Erszébet lingers on in the hallway for a moment after the boys go their separate ways, putting out the lamps in the corners of the hall. She looks out the great front window and sees that it’s beginning to snow again. Little white flakes drift out from the dark clouds overhead and coat the mushy, dirty ice on the ground with a fresh, light powder. They cover the front stairs and the car out front and the shrubbery that surrounds the main gate. She can see the twinkling yellow lights coming from the big city, like a great star in front of her. It’s quiet here on the edge of the town, but she can imagine the men and women and children of Vienna celebrating Christmas with music and mulled wine and the beautiful snowflake garlands that line the main shopping streets. It’s quiet here on the edge of the hallway, but she sighs a little sigh of relief to be alone for a few spare moments after a busy holiday.  
“Erszi?” a familiar voice asks faintly. The sound comes from her right. “Are you coming to bed?” It’s Roderich, standing in his nightclothes under the doorframe that leads to her room. His glasses are off and his hair curls around his face, rather than being combed back as he wears it during the day.  
She smiles, perking up. If she’s lucky, there’ll be a last Christmas present from him waiting in the bedroom. “Coming, dearest.” She scampers to his side, shutting the door behind them.  
Roderich climbs into bed and the warm haven that the blankets provide. It’s cold, and there’s no fireplace in their room. Erszébet begins to undress quickly, pawing around in the dark for her nightdress. She only manages to take her top off before her husband is beckoning her.  
“No,” he yawns as she reaches for a shawl, “just… c’mere.”  
Her heartbeat quickens hopefully, and she obeys.  
As soon as she climbs in bed with him, he buries his head in between her breasts, his arms clambering around her back and holding her close. Amused, she smiles a moment before pulling the blankets over them.  
Someone had once told her that there were two kinds of men in the world - those who liked ladies’ breasts better, and those who liked their rear ends. Roderich, she had known from the moment they’d undressed each other on their wedding night, was the first kind. If it had still been their first night, she might have thought that his current position - face hidden in her chest - was adorable, and an excellent step in the right direction. But they’ve been together longer than that, and Erszébet is in the mood for far more tonight. She frowns and kisses the top of his hair, staring ahead of her with a fierce determination.  
“Roddy,” she whispers after a few minutes, when she feels his breath even out as if he is about to fall asleep. “Will you let me get up? I’m cold. I want to put my nightdress on.”  
He groans, rolling over, and says, “Yeah… go…” He’s half asleep, and Erszébet frets that he might just slip into slumber before she comes back. He opens his eyes to cast one last longing look at her comfortable chest before she gets out of bed.  
It’s icy cold in their bedroom. Despite this, as soon as she is in the closet alone, she tears off her underskirt and prances around the racks of clothes, undressed, but on a mission. Her mission takes her all the way to the back of the closet, where she’s kept a few of last season’s pieces that she might want to wear again. Her eyes on the prize, she opens the box and digs around in it until she finds a corset, one in the old S-curve style that seems to be going out of fashion. Though it’s dark, she laces herself into it. It takes time - much more time than she’d like - but the end result, she decides, taking a peek in the mirror, should be worth it.  
She’s off to the next destination. In the little carved box where she keeps her jewelry, she finds a silk ribbon and ties it around her neck in a loopy bow. Her hair comes down as she plucks out the pins that hold it in its daytime style. Its russet length, shining and soft, reaches down past her waist. She brushes through it a few times, ridding herself of what few stray ends and tangled bits remain.  
Erszébet looks at herself in the mirror again. She knows exactly what will get her husband in the right sort of mood, and this is it. It’s chilly wearing nothing but a corset and a single ribbon around her neck in the middle of December, but if it works, the cold won’t matter. Before she leaves the closet to get back in bed, she rubs a tiny bit of extra perfume on the insides of her wrists and behind her ears. She grins.  
Ten minutes, she promises herself as she struts back into the bedroom, letting her hips swing a little. Ten minutes, and he will be positively all over you. She climbs into bed and curls up against his back. He responds to her - he turns over, his arms wrapping around her and his face leaning in towards her chest again.  
And then he feels the corset. “Erszi?” he asks her sleepily. “You feel… hard.” He runs his hands down her back and feels the bone and metal in her garment. “Erszi, what are you wearing?” Roderich sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes.  
She sits up, too. She sits on her knees, letting her legs spread just a hint.  
“Oh. Ohhhhh.” Roderich’s staring at her, eyes as wide as dinner plates. She has to hold back a laugh - he’s practically drooling over her.  
And then he picks her up, pressing her whole body against his. His lips are on hers, and then they’re all over her décotellage, and the top of her chest. As he takes his shirt and his pants off, she knows it’s exactly what she wanted.


	2. 2. Summer, 1911

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/user/cutthenorth/playlist/2OR8zzTZfvgReeW4RTqD3Y
> 
> Songs no. 3 and 4 accompany this chapter.

Summer, 1911

Erszébet can hear her husband’s voice as he walks down the corridor, informing Franz Josef and the German minister of what he’s already prepared and what still needs to be put in order before tomorrow’s first meeting with the Italian cabinet. It’s their first day in Rome, and Roderich is already down to business, despite just getting off the train and checking into the hotel a few hours ago. He’s been preparing for this summit for two months now; she’s watched him write and stress and panic late into the night since May. He’s not about to repeat his poor performance from the last summit two years ago, no. Now he’s older, more experienced, more calculating. And less compromising, too.   
The three men turn the corner, and Roderich’s eyes land on her, waiting patiently on a bench in the foyer of the Palazzo Chigi in her white summer walking dress. “Oh!” he points out. “Your Highness; Herr Bethmann-Holweg - my wife, Erszébet.” He looks a tad embarrassed, she notices, as if her presence is interrupting his performance.   
She stands up and curtsies politely to the Emperor and the German chancellor, giving them polite smiles before retreating to her bench again. In her head, she curses herself. How foolish it was of her to try and meet Roderich during the day! She should have known it would just throw off his perfectly planned, perfectly professional image.   
The Emperor acknowledges her, but moves the trio forward, picking up the conversation again almost as if Erszébet had not been there at all. Roderich gives her one last look over his shoulder before he is whisked away by Franz Josef’s brisk pace. It’s a pleading look. She can’t quite tell if it means Why? or Wait! Either way, the whole encounter makes her want to curl inwards on herself and vanish. Not only did she embarrass herself, by being so forward as to come and visit, she embarrassed Roderich, who now looks like he has a crazy wife who sticks her nose where it doesn’t belong. Now Roderich will be upset, his dividing line that separates home and work broken, and he’ll seem unprofessional and he won’t be able to speak right and he’ll have a panic attack and then he’ll lose his job and then-  
You’re the one having a panic attack, her brain realizes all of a sudden. Pull yourself together, Erszi. Roddy’s better than that now. Roddy’s okay. You’re okay. She tells herself that over and over again, but can’t quite believe it. No. She believes it - but she can’t quite feel it. She can still feel her fingers trembling when she pries her hands from her forehead, and she can feel her eyes wide open, looking at the ground, but not seeing anything. She can feel herself stand up and walk towards the exit, but she can’t quite feel okay. Let Roddy make the first move, she reminds herself as she walks alone down the main street of Rome. Always let Roddy come to you. It’s easier for the both of us that way.   
Crossing the street to get to the cafe on the other side, Erszébet is almost hit by a motorcyclist barreling past. It’s her fault. She isn’t looking when she steps out into the road. She only notices the motorcycle when it’s racing towards her and she can’t get out of the way quick enough. She can’t even recall hearing the motor until the driver skids to a short stop right next to her, spewing dust and garbage all over her. The motorcyclist screams at her in bitter, infuriated Italian, and the only thing she can do is vehemently apologize and scurry across the rest of the street to safety on the other side.   
She meets Gilbert in the cafe. He’s already gotten a table for three and is sipping on a glass of white wine when she sits down (more like flops down) in the chair next to him. “Whoa, Frau Edelstein,” he says, eyeing her dirty dress, her flyaway hairs, and her distraught expression. “Are you doing okay?”   
She has to answer him truthfully. “No.” She heaves a sigh and recounts her story, beginning at the Palazzo Chigi and ending here in the cafe.   
“Damn,” Gilbert says appreciatively, setting his glass of water down and scrutinizing her with a concerned, surprisingly gentle gaze. “Don’t let Roddy get to you too much, you know,” he finally advises her. “He’s… he’s neurotic when it comes to stuff like this. All the preparation, the planning… oh, God, planning out what to say in every situation. It’s exhausting. And it rubs off. It rubbed off on me once, now it’s rubbing off on you. This anxiety seems unbelievable to us, but to him it’s completely founded. Completely rational. He’s so convincing, he can trap you in the same backwards logic, too. I think he’s indoctrinated you into his… his weirdness.”   
Erszébet’s eyebrows knit together peevishly. “He’s not being weird, Herr Beilschmidt, he’s trying to keep himself sane! If all this repetition and planning and stressing is helping him cope, why not let him? At the last summit-”   
“I know what happened at the last summit, Frau Edelstein,” Gilbert insists, voice low and serious. “Either way, it’s not right. He does not need all this panicking. He’s talented enough with words and tact and bargaining; that’s why the Emperor chose him. I understand where his fear of this summit is coming from - but at the same time, I don’t.” He folds his hands on the table and glances down at his interlocked fingers. “It’s… it’s not so ordinary a fear as he makes it out to be, I’m afraid.”   
She, too, looks down at the bright white of the tablecloth and says nothing in silent agreement.   
Gilbert focuses on her again. Critically, he asks her, “Why did you go to the Palazzo to see Roddy?”   
“I don’t know,” she finally admits with a heavy exhale. “I don’t know. I… I don’t think it was just because I wanted to see him. It seemed to me like… like the right thing to do. Like I should try coming to him, just to let him know that for as much as I try to make him chase after me, at the end of the day I want to support him. Even if he’s being neurotic, he needs… he deserves someone there.”   
Across the table from her, Gilbert’s expression is stormy. His fingers unfold themselves and he stares for a while at his hand, which lays flat on the tabletop. She hasn’t ever characterized Gilbert Beilschmidt as a sulking type of man, yet here he is right in front of her, brooding. The look doesn’t fit him. His face is too serious, his lips too drawn and his eyebrows too furrowed. His hair doesn’t seem bright, brilliant white anymore; it seems rather gray. He isn’t meant for moping like this. He isn’t meant for - she finally sees it, written in between the lines in his face - for looking so jealous.   
“Someone get this woman a cocktail,” he finally announces, waving the nearest waiter over and ordering something inappropriately alcoholic for her. “Miss Erszébet, you’re… so lucky.” Gilbert uses her first name, as if the past few minutes have transformed them into more intimate friends. “You have… good feelings.” He’s clearly having trouble getting his words out. “And… he’s so lucky that he’s got a wife that… that wants to understand him. Like you do.”   
Erszébet can’t entirely comprehend why Gilbert’s suddenly being so amicable with her. Perhaps he’s on drugs. Or she’s still back on the bench at the Palazzo, having blacked out and now living in an alternate reality. But she doesn’t have time to try and wrap her head around it much more, because Roderich strolls up behind her, pulls out a chair, and sits down at the table.   
“Thank you for waiting for me, Gilbert, Erszi,” he says with a brisk smile, nodding to them both. “I heard you were talking about luck. Did I happen to interrupt any brilliant philosophical question?” A goofy grin on his face, he wraps his arm around Erszébet’s shoulders.   
“It’s not a problem,” Gilbert assures him halfheartedly, shaking his head. “Just talking about everyone’s preparations for the summit.” It’s not entirely a lie. Erszébet spots some pink in Gilbert’s cheeks that wasn’t there just a few moments before, and his eyes are wide open and anxious. She’s never seen him like this before.   
The waiter brings back the cocktail that Gilbert ordered. “For me?” Roderich jokes. “I’ll certainly be needing it if it’s the summit we’re talking about.” He grins, ruefully. Gilbert lets him take a sip of the cocktail.   
“It’s for me,” Erszébet finally tells him, a little too irritatedly. “I’ll certainly be needing it if it’s embarrassing ourselves at the summit we’re talking about.” She mocks his words. He hasn’t said anything about their encounter at the Palazzo, and she’s not sure if it’s out of contempt or respect for her. She takes a bigger sip of the cocktail.   
“Well, in that case, I suppose we’ll both be needing it, Erszi,” her husband replies softly, looking rather put-off. She inwardly winces. Too harsh.   
Boldly, she offers him the cocktail, but rather than letting him take it in his hands and drink himself, she brings the glass up to his lips and tilts it back, forcing him to drink at her will, like a reverse cupbearer.   
When she finally brings the cup down and sets the cocktail back on the table, he looks perhaps even more confused than before. He wipes his lips with a napkin and tilts his head to the side as he asks her curiously, “What’s gotten into you, Erszi?”   
Erszébet frowns and gives him a pointed look. She’s not willing to be agreeable with him, not after embarrassing herself in front of the Emperor.   
He sighs because he knows. “I’m sorry, Erszi. I should have told you right away. I’m not upset with you, and nothing went wrong. I’m sorry I didn’t give you my full attention back at the Palazzo. I hope you can forgive me. It was a mistake.” He looks genuinely repentant, as if their encounter had left him nervous as well.   
She gives him a tiny nod. “All right.” She tries a little smile.   
Roderich smiles back. “Thank you, liebling.” He leans over to give her lips a gentle kiss. When he pulls away and she looks back across the table at Gilbert, she’s quite sure she’s never seen his face look so shocked and puzzled all at once.   
Today, she thinks to herself, is just full of surprises.


	3. 3. Spring, 1912

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/user/cutthenorth/playlist/2OR8zzTZfvgReeW4RTqD3Y
> 
> Song no. 5 accompanies this chapter.

Spring, 1912 

Erszébet is setting silverware out on the table for dinner when Roderich comes home. It’s Friday and Sunday is Easter Sunday, and since it’s a holiday, Gilbert will probably be here soon to visit and make her life miserable while he’s at it. She doesn’t understand why he has to come so often. He’s a distraction. Gilbert knows how to flatter Roderich perhaps even better than she does. She should just tell her husband that she’s sick of Gilbert and be rid of him.  
But when Roderich walks in the door, Gilbert’s with him. He must be fresh off the train from Berlin. They’re deep in discussion, Gilbert using his boardroom voice and Roderich seeming to shrink underneath his friend’s scrutiny. He only waves to Erszébet before the two of them go upstairs, presumably to the office. She hears them stomp up the stairs, shoes and coats and hats still on, and then she hears their voices fade as a door clicks shut behind them. Something’s up.  
Erszébet exhales, aggrieved. The argument’s still raging upstairs, albeit muffled by the distance. She’s been trying to wind Roderich down all week, but Gilbert seems to have a talent for riling him back up again. He’s always more agitated right after Gilbert leaves. It’s like he has some kind of separation anxiety.  
She eyes the liquor, in a crystal bottle on top of the china cabinet. It’s supposed to be for dinner, but she believes she has a better purpose for it. She takes a pewter serving tray from the maid and puts the liquor bottle and two tiny crystal cups on it, and heads to the stairs.  
She has to be careful. The stairs are old and wooden, and sometimes they creak when one goes up too quickly. She takes off her shoes at the bottom of the stairs and slowly steps up onto the first stair. She holds her breath as she ascends. The boys probably won’t hear a tiny creak while they’re focused on arguing - but she doesn’t want to risk it. She wants to know what’s going on, and she wants to hear it straight. Roderich would only give her the watered-down, wife-appropriate version.  
Erszébet sneaks down the hallway on silent, bare feet. The sounds of bitter debate grow less and less muffled as she inches towards the closed office door. She can pick out several words by the time she’s at the middle of the hallway.  
“Bosnia… struggle… conflict… independence,” she can hear Roderich say, clearly struggling to keep his cool.  
“Unity… Austria… not really nations… Augsleich…”  
She creeps closer to the door as they keep on arguing, a twisting feeling spreading in the bottom of her stomach. There’s something that’s not right about this argument. She remembers their previous disagreements. The two of them enjoy debating in the evenings. They’ll sit in the parlor, a beer in Gilbert’s hand and a happily full cup of coffee in Roderich’s, and share their perspectives and predictions on political points. They usually won’t raise their voices, but they will rise from their chairs to bring down books or newspapers to demonstrate evidence. They’re lucky enough to work with such important people as the Kaiser and the Chancellor and the Archduke and be able to quote them in proving a point with an educated interpretation.  
But tonight there is shouting, stomping around and pacing, and a closed door. Something is very wrong.  
Erszébet leans her ear against the door, feeling the dark wood hard and cold against the side of her face. It’s relatively warm downstairs; it must be the thundering argument up here that’s making the second floor so frigid.  
“...and I would like to believe that you could make progress that way, but it’s just impossible,” Gilbert insists, huffing. “You can’t just give up control. Ruling in name only is hardly ruling. You compromise with them now, they’ll know you as soft, and next thing you know they’re rebelling and you’re left with nothing. This empire wasn’t designed to work this way, Roddy. This is new. The national problem is new.”  
“We adapt to new problems,” Roderich bites back bitterly. “We can’t just keep butting our heads in the same old direction. Especially when the old direction isn’t working. Parliament barely functions, Gilbert. But people still need Austria around. They need us for defense, they need us for industrial strength, they need solidarity… but it would make it easier if we let each nation manage itself.”  
“Roddy, look. You have two halves of your state now. Austria and Hungary. Even that doesn’t work - you can never agree on a budget, there’s never enough money… imagine that struggle with four or five groups in the equation. You won’t be able to keep up the military management that drives this empire. It’ll be divisive. Letting the nations… rule themselves… is just adding more fuel to the national problem. Then they’ll think they are independent and special. You need a state united without national borders.”  
They stop talking for a moment and Erszébet hears Roderich’s lighter footsteps pace back and forth for a moment. “No matter what we do, there’s always a national problem,” he finally argues. “I refuse to believe this is a problem we can’t solve. We’ve picked ourselves up before. We can do it again if we try-” his words are emphasized here- “national cooperation.”  
“Austria wasn’t built on cooperation,” Gilbert mocks. “The Habsburgs came in and took over nations that couldn’t function on their own and made an empire out of it. Thought they were gonna be the next Rome. Then they wanted us - they wanted Germany. Prussia. And then when we forced you to look back to your servants in the east, there was the national problem. Your - Austria’s - downfall will be Austria’s own fault, Roddy.”  
“You’re telling me we’re doomed,” Roderich sighs, sounding rather resigned.  
“I’m sorry, man. Nothing you can do but wait.”  
“I never thought an outsider would look in so deeply and see that.” Roderich sighs and rustles with something. “But if we truly are doomed, we might as well try to split with not too many hard feelings. I support another compromise with the other nations, Gilbert. I hope I can trust you to… to keep this secret safe.”  
Gilbert lets out a long sigh. “You’re on thin fucking ice with the Emperor. And as much as I love you, Roddy, I can’t agree with you on this one. But.” He pauses. “My lips are sealed.” There’s another awkward silence. “Be careful. There are ears everywhere. I don’t want to see you lose your livelihood, Herr Foreign Minister.”  
Erszébet shrinks as her husband quietly replies, “I know.” She steps back, intending to escape before either of them comes out the door and realizes she’s eavesdropping. When she’s nearly to the stairs, the clock strikes the hour. The silence of the hall is shattered like ice hit by a hammer. She starts in surprise - and the crystal glasses tumble together, clinking and falling and making an unmistakable sound. She lets out a silent gasp and puts her hand out to stop the glasses from falling to the ground, sighing in relief when they finally stop rolling, blocked by her fingers. She sets them up again, ears straining to listen and find out whether or not Roderich and Gilbert heard her.  
There’s only quizzical murmuring coming from the office, so she hurries the rest of the distance to the stairs. That’s when Gilbert comes out, stalking towards the stairs with an unreadable look on his face. When he sees her sneaking down the stairs, he makes eye contact with her. He doesn’t say her name, just gives her a dark, demanding glare. He points to the drawing room door. Come with me, he’s clearly saying. She has no choice but to obey.  
When they enter the drawing room, Gilbert closes the curtains and shuts and locks the door behind them. He points to the liquor tray and then the coffee table. Put it down. She does.  
Then he strides towards her, pushing her into a corner. They’re just inches apart, Gilbert’s huge hands on either side of the wall behind her, making escape impossible. Her heart beats frantically, fearfully in her chest, but she tilts her chin up and looks him straight in the eyes. It’s supposed to deter men.  
Gilbert is not in the least deterred. “What did you hear?” he hisses to her, his angry crimson eyes boring straight through her. Erszébet wonders if this is what talking with the devil feels like.  
She lets her voice quaver. “I- I didn’t hear anything,” she lies, pleading with him and playing the part of the innocent, hapless housewife. “I was on my way to d-dinner. I was going to see if you and my- my husband were coming down.”  
“Why did you have that liquor?” he demands, relentless.  
“I- I wanted to see if you two wanted any, but you w-were arguing, so I left…” She forces theatrical tears to well up in her eyes and puckers her lips a little, doing her best to look overwhelmed.  
Gilbert huffs and throws his hands down, stepping back a little and looking at his feet. “Roddy doesn’t allow alcohol upstairs and you know that. You were eavesdropping, that’s what you were doing. You’re smarter than this. Quit acting like a damsel in distress and tell me what you heard, or I’ll bring your husband down here and we’ll see what he says.”  
“Fine! I heard everything!” she blurts out, throwing her arms up in the air. “I heard that Roderich wants all the nations to compromise and have their own federal state. I heard that he’s on ‘thin fucking ice’ with the Emperor. I heard that you don’t agree with him but for whatever reason you’re keeping him safe. Because… because you like him that much.”  
“Would you expose him, hm? Would you let him speak freely and lose his job? You’d lose all of this. You’d lose food. You’d lose the house. You’d lose a living. You’d have to go on home and live with your parents because your husband can’t take care of you anymore. He’d be on the run the rest of his life. I can’t let that happen to… to him.” Gilbert sighs, the angry red on his face fading and settling into pale, wan hopelessness.  
“Gilbert, I don’t care about exposing him. I don’t want to tell anybody, I just want him to tell me!” she exclaims. “Don’t you think I have a right to know what he’s up to? We’re married. For two years now. And yet,” she winces, “he still finds someone else to be his secret-keeper.” Gilbert is, as certainly as her name is Erszébet, Roderich’s secret-keeper. She knows she’s not supposed to be jealous of Roderich’s male friends. They’ve been his companions since he was in school, long before he met her. They grew up together. But it is so very easy to be jealous of Gilbert. Jealous of the pointed glances and knowing smiles as the two men walk side by side. Jealous of the lengthy discussions held over coffee and beer and pastries behind closed doors. Jealous of the constant stream of mail coming from and going to Berlin. Jealous of the attention. She hates Gilbert, she decides, for his secret-keeping and for the way he seems to think he’s a better companion than her.  
“Fine,” Gilbert finally decides. “You deserve to know. I’lll- I’ll put in a good word for you. I’m sorry… sorry you feel pushed to the side. You don’t deserve that.” He sighs, looking crushed. “I’ll go and get him for dinner.” He walks to the door, leaving Erszébet behind in the corner.  
“Wait.” She pulls herself together and adds as an afterthought, “And I would let him tell the Emperor. I would let him get fired. I would rather he lives bravely, true to his beliefs, than hide his secrets like a coward and fear what the rest of the world thinks.”  
Gilbert stares, as if the words struck him in the heart like a bullet. He doesn’t have Roderich’s calculating poker face. He blinks several times, as if he’s holding back tears. “You’re just a devilish broad, aren’t you?” he hisses, but his voice wobbles. His back to her, he wipes at his face with his sleeve. Then he’s gone, his heavy footsteps stalking up the creaky stairs. 

 

It’s nearing eleven in the evening on Easter Sunday. Erszébet glances at the clock and puts her embroidery down in the little wicker basket by the side of her parlor chair. It’s bedtime. She clears the dessert dishes from the coffee table and heaps them all on the pewter serving platter for the maid to take away. She picks up one of Roderich’s stray books and puts it in the stack next to her embroidery basket. Then she takes a glance at the couch, where Roderich and Gilbert are sitting.  
They’d been reading, but it looks like Roderich has dozed off. That explains the quiet. His book is open, his hand still holding it, but his eyes are closed. He’s wholly leaned to the side, his glasses skewed at an angle on his face. And he’s leaning against Gilbert, his head resting gently against the other man’s shoulder.  
Erszébet looks at Gilbert, doing her best impression of her husband’s poker face. Gilbert only grins at her, cruelly.


	4. 4. Autumn, 1913

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/user/cutthenorth/playlist/2OR8zzTZfvgReeW4RTqD3Y
> 
> Song no. 6 accompanies this chapter.

Autumn, 1913 

“Happy birthday, Roddy,” Erszébet tells him sweetly, pecking him on the lips as she finishes arranging the blankets over their lap. The October wind nips at the back of her neck and she pulls her scarf tighter. With a crackle, dry, brown leaves lift off the ground and batter the bottom half of the buggy. One lands on her lap, and she flicks it off with a finger.   
Roderich smiles and flicks the horses’ reins to a start. Once they begin to move, he tells her, “Thank you, schatz.” There’s a long, comfortable silence, only disturbed by the rustling of the dry leaves on the trees. The leaves have long since turned bright yellow and red. Now they’re fading to crinkled brown and are blowing off the trees en masse. The packed dirt road is lined on either side by long heaps of fallen leaves. There are a few people on the sides of the path raking leaves, and they wave at Roderich’s buggy as it passes by. Erszébet and her husband wave back cheerfully.   
The cathedral steeples of Vienna are visible after just a few more minutes in the buggy. The sky is gray and gloomy out on the hills, but near the steeples, it’s even darker. On an ordinary day, Erszébet might tease her husband that the weather’s getting to him and he’s being too quiet and pensive, but today, he’s lively. Or, at least as lively as Roderich Edelstein can get. “Ready for the opera tonight?” she asks him, hoping his favorite subject (music) will get him in a chatty mood. She loves it when he’s talkative. His sugary voice is addictive.   
“I am!” he exclaims, breaking into a smile. “Oh, it’s been ages since I was able to catch a performance. Did you know there are going to be guest artists from Paris tonight in most of the lead roles? I’m so excited to see what they do with it. We should make a point to see some concerts when we’re in France next spring. And go to the ballet.” He shifts the reins into one hand. Gracefully, he lets his newly free left arm drape over her shoulders and his fingers come to rest against her upper arm, protected by her velvet coat.   
“We can do all that… anything you want. Let’s see some art at the museums, too.”   
“I’ll put that on our list. Won’t it be a treat to walk around the Louvre with my very own work of art on my arm.” Roderich laughs and squeezes her a moment.  
Happily, Erszébet leans against him, and presses her nose into the folds of the fabric of his own coat. Since it’s been getting chilly, Roderich has been wearing his coat out nearly every day when he leaves for work. It’s starting to smell like him - like sweet cologne and dark roast coffee and paper. It’s the same aroma that she can sense on the pillows in the bed, on his starched shirts, in his office, on her after they make love. Early on in their time together, she craved that scent, craved their being close together. She still does, but now it is a comfort rather than something new. It’s something that reminds her that old feelings can still be kept alive.   
As they come down a hill that leads to the path to their manor, quiet and quaint on the very edge of Vienna, Roderich’s hand over her shoulder sneaks up, fingers gliding over the back of her neck, and underneath her hat, where he tenderly strokes her hair. His fingers easily slip through her soft, soft hair as if he’s caressing a piece of silk. Erszébet recalls that a long time ago, he told her that one of his favorite joys of marriage was the easy, casual way they could touch one another. That was what she considered his craving. Sleeping together, resting under the covers with her pressed up against him, holding hands during walks, kisses after dinner, a gentle hand on his shoulder while he’s frantically finishing the last lines of his report. One might not expect this kind of vulnerability, this kind of tenderness from someone so introspective and brooding. But Roderich is full of quiet, steadfast affection - a private word when he can tell she’s nervous, a hand held under the table. She loves it. She loves him.   
When they’re safely in the courtyard of the manor, cast-iron gates shut and locked behind them, they let a servant take the horses and buggy from them and hurry inside the warm house. The tops of their cheeks and noses are pink from the chilly weather outside, and after taking off their heavy coats and scarves, they are ushered into the parlor where the maid has already set out steaming hot coffee.   
Erszébet lets her husband pour coffee into her cup and stir in cream and sugar before he serves himself. He’s taken it black for the past year or so rather than adulterating it as he did earlier in their marriage. She watches him put the cup to his lips and drink for a few seconds, before he sets it down in the saucer and absentmindedly looks out the window. His arm is around her again, his fingers drumming out a rhythm on her shoulder. He doesn’t seem to be thinking much of anything. His face is clear, unwrinkled, unlike his usual scheming face. She pulls her feet up on the couch and curls up next to him.   
Roderich gestures to his lap, allowing her to rest her head there. He leans down a moment and brushes his lips against hers, before he stares out the window again.   
Slyly, Erszébet sits up a little. She lets her hand trail down his cheekbone, coming to rest and cupping the side of his face. He turns to her again, smiling ever so faintly, and kisses her again. This time, they stay together for a while longer. When they pull apart, Roderich runs his finger over her bottom lip, pink and damp from their kiss just moments earlier. His eyes flit over her face quickly before he thumbs her lips apart and kisses her again, with more energy.   
She takes a deep breath and pulls his hands up from her waist to her hair, where he lets his fingers sink in and tangle within her russet brown locks. A pin falls out, then another. Her hair tumbles down around her shoulders and the back of her neck.   
They break apart for breath but return together with equal fervor, Erszébet’s hands sliding up under his waistcoat to feel the heat radiating from his chest. She smiles against his lips - and that’s when the maid walks in, coming to collect their empty coffee dishes. The maid does her best not to make any noise, but she slams the door behind her in surprise, and Erszébet can hear her heels click-clicking in the tile hallway as she flees the scene.   
Much to her surprise, this makes Roderich burst out laughing. His cheeks are flushed pink, and he holds his sides and doubles over with peals of laughter. “My God- did you see how fast she ran out of here?” he asks in between giggles. He looks up and sees Erszébet’s shocked expression, which only seems to set him off again. “I’m so sorry, so sorry, schatz, I’m sorry, I’m being mean-”   
“No!” she interrupts, waving her hands vehemently. “Not at all!” She grins, and can’t help but crack up a little herself. Roderich’s laughter is a welcome gift. She’s delighted that he’s relaxed enough to let himself loose a little.   
When he manages to calm himself, he straightens up and decides to pour himself a little more coffee. “Want some?” he offers Erszébet, holding up the pewter coffeepot.   
“No, thank you.” She has to decline him. The caffeine is already beginning to get to her head. She settles for leaning against his side again as he drains his cup. He’s staring out the window again. Whatever deer or tree is out there must be astonishingly interesting.   
Erszébet gets an idea. She sits up and puts her hand in front of his ear. She whispers, “Roddy… let’s go upstairs.” Her lips curve up into a brilliant smile and her heart pounds.   
Ever so slowly, he turns to face her. He’s got his ‘thinking’ face on. “That’s not a bad idea,” he eventually says with a tiny smile. “Why don’t we?” He stands, and offers her a hand to help her up.   
When they reach the stairs, he lets her lead the way. “Onward, Erszi.” They won’t emerge until it’s time to go to the opera.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That'll be the last bit of fluff for now. Next chapter will be posted within a few days of 22 July 2018. Are you ready for the final chapter - the beginning of WW1?


End file.
